


Songs of Fire: Book 1

by queenenvy



Series: Hymns of Kings [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, essentially if you've watched the show, most of the bad shit in it will also be in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenenvy/pseuds/queenenvy
Summary: Araye White; The first and only woman of the Night's Watch, training to take the place of First Ranger. When she meets Jon Snow, things take a turn as she has to deal with the scrutiny of the other Watch members as well as her conflicted feelings over the new trainee. Meanwhile dealing with the lurking threat in the North. A war is coming and Araye isn't the only one that senses it.Cendaia Baratheon; A forgotten princess, daughter to Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. She was once to be the heir of the Iron Throne but now that the Lannisters are in the picture, she was shoved to the side. She is mocked as The Raven Queen by most if not all in Westeros. upon members of her Northern family being brought into King's Landing, she takes an interest in them. Hoping that they might help restore her name throughout the realm.Dahleena; A female bloodrider of the Dothraki, her Khal has been given the gift of a bride. A young girl from across the sea; Daenerys Targaryen, the exiled princess. Her brother, Viserys hopes to use the Khalasar to retake Westeros from the usurpers. Dahleena holds no interest for whatever lay across the narrow sea but she does sense that Viserys will bring danger to her people.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen/Original Female Character(s), Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hymns of Kings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789810
Kudos: 10





	1. Winter is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't like putting big notes at the beginning BUT I really wanted to say something;
> 
> I'm still super new to AO3 and it took a lot of courage to move this book from Quotev to here. It's majorly canon divergent and OC focused, which I worried for a long time would make people hate it. So, I'm finally shutting up, crossing my fingers and hoping I don't get flamed into the literal dirt!!
> 
> I'd love to hear any helpful criticism people have ( grammar errors, certain plot points not connecting, etc )
> 
> P.S, if any lengthy dialogue ( full sentences and such ) are in italics, it means the characters are speaking Dothraki or Valyrian ( usually context will be given for someone to figure out which )

The deer roots across the snow-covered ground, in search of something green to feed upon or perhaps something else equally suitable. However a snapping twig made its head jerk up from the ground to peer around the area, the snow crunched under its feet as it slowly began to move forward.

“It’s too far away” Benjen muttered to the woman, shifting his position and raising a gloved hand to rest upon the snow-covered tops of the stones they hid behind.

“No it isn’t”, she breathed out back to him, “now shut up.” She inhaled the crisp winter air around them deeply into her lungs, tiny needles of cold pricking at the interiors of her throat, though it was nothing she wasn’t used to. Araye had never spent a day of her life in the South and she felt that some part of her was happy for that fact. She’d always had strong suspicions that she wouldn’t fare well in the heat and surrounded by the pompous asses that proclaimed themselves ‘King of this’ and ‘King of that’, they could all hang as far as she was concerned. The gentle creaking of the wood’s protest on her bow reminded her of the task at hand and she finally let the arrow loose. It soared through the falling frost and pierced into the doe's eye. An incredulous laugh escaped Benjen after the animal had collapsed into the snow, safely ensuring they had their meal for the night.

"I don't know how you do it," He said as Araye and himself finally emerged from their cover. Araye walked forward, snow crunching beneath her boots as she arrived at the corpse.

"There's nothing to it", she answered with a shrug as she placed a black, leather boot on the deer's neck, yanking the arrow out from its eye socket and wiping the iron tip carefully on her black pants then putting it back in her quiver. "You just aim and you shoot."

"Oh? Then how is everyone in the world not a marksman by now?" Benjen's soft eyes wrinkled at the corners with his amusement.

"I didn't say it was _easy_ , I just said it's not complicated" Araye scoffed as she glanced back towards Benjen.

He chuckled, cloudy breath blowing into the air as he glanced up at the night sky. "We should set camp up here, I'll start skinning it, go find some wood."

Araye rose her brow at him, almost seeming to pout before saying to him, “but I like skinning.”

Benjen rose his brow at her, “you _like_ skinning?”

Her arms crossed over her chest as she went on the defensive to justify her seemingly morbid hobby, “it gives me something to do with my hands.”

“So would gathering firewood” Benjen retorted, a teasing grin tugging the edges of his thin, chapped lips up.

A grimace flooded her expression "are you going to _complain_ about it or--”

“It’s all yours.” Benjen interrupted her with a chuckle, Araye huffed in her obvious annoyance before she bent to grasp the animal's hind legs and drag it back to their lightly established camp.

Benjen had only taken a step towards the wood before the tell-tale noise of a carriage’s wheels rolling across the gravelly road beside them sounded. Their heads turned up to gaze out from the treeline and they spotted not just a carriage but several men on horseback riding on either end of it. Upon seeing the sigil of a crowned stag on the door, they both understood why this carriage was so heavily guarded.

"What in the seven hells is the King doing this far North?" Araye spoke to no one in particular though directed her eyes to Benjen soon after.

"Ah, I almost forgot. The King is heading to Winterfell, for reasons I was declined the privilege of knowing. My brother has invited me to the attend the feast." He watched as her disposition went from relaxed to stiff, he would've been more surprised if it hadn't. He knew how much she hated politics, their conductors, and everything in between, Araye even refused to accompany Benjen into Winterfell's keep to visit his family.

"What am I to do while you're attending this feast?" Araye scoffed on the last word, dropping the doe again to cross the short distance between herself and Benjen.

He doesn't fear her anger like others inherently seemed to, only smiles, "you're coming." Her mouth is agape at him after he says it, stammering and struggling to get out some sort of refusal to the command. "It's not a request, Araye, as First Ranger I'm demanding that you accompany me."

Again, her mouth is left stuck open and if she wasn't already fuming, he would've teased her for the expression. But, as angry as she is at his words, she cannot refuse a command issued to her. Her mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching painfully as her teeth grind together before she turns away from him, cloak whipping dramatically behind her. He can hear the grumbles let out beneath her breath as she walks back to the kill.

* * *

The sun beat down on their backs as the horses of the Dothraki horde moved slowly towards Pentos, the home of this new woman that would soon become their Khaleesi. The woman currently watching the distant buildings they were steadily approaching had a nagging feeling in her gut. Something about this occasion was different and she couldn't place why.

" _Dahleena"_ She glanced ahead at their leader, their Khal. The punishment for not answering immediately to his calls was something she didn't want to risk, no matter how favored she was. Her heels dug into the sides of Lavakho, the stallion gave a displeased snort but obeyed the request and picked up his pace.

" _Blood of my blood?"_ Dahleena pulled backed gently on Lavakho's reigns as she reached Khal Drogo's side, forcing him to slow again.

" _I have an important task to ask of you."_ She dipped her head to show she was ready to hear what her leader would ask of her. " _You have never failed me before, if this dragon that we go to meet is offering me an acceptable bride, she will need a guard. Someone to watch after her at all times, prevent harm from befalling her, kill her enemies, and those that would dishonor her name. I give this task to you."_

Dahleena’s expression remained stoic though confusion wracked her mind. The Khals before Drogo did not care what happened to their Khaleesi as long as she could still give him an heir. But Drogo was also not like the Khals that came before him, she would never have become his bloodrider if he was and she wasn't one to question a command, she nods, " _I will do this."_

He doesn't answer her, only gives a soft grunt. The unusual tension that the Khal held may not have been obvious to those who didn't know him, but Dahleena read him as easily a book. Drogo was not excitedly anticipating what this ‘dragon’ had to offer him and most in the horde knew this. Undesiring to cause further upset, Dahleena clicks her tongue and turns Lavakho, falling back to her place beside the other bloodriders.

  
An anxious breath leaves her nostrils in a dramatic huff and it doesn't go unnoticed by the others though only one is brave enough to say anything.

"S _omething troubles you, sister?"_ Rakharo was the only Bloodrider in the Khalasar fearless enough to call Dahleena his 'sister'. It was perhaps for that reason that he was the only one she trusted enough to speak her mind to.

Dahleena looks at him from the corner of her eyes for only a moment before watching the approaching city, " _I do not trust this. These outsiders, their requests in exchange for a bride. Why is this man worthy of an army?"_

" _This is why we ride to Pentos,"_ Rakharo stated as if it were obvious, " _if he isn't, we will kill him and the rest of them where they stand._ "

Dahleena smiles despite her inner-conflict, shaking her head, " _always an easy solution to it all, isn't there?_ "

The man chuckled next to her, " _blood is the cure to any ailment._ "

She doubts the truth in this, but arguing against it was pointless. Bloodshed was as much a part of their life as the ocean was for a sailor, " _what do you make of this silver haired man who calls himself the dragon?"_ She asks instead, hoping to continue distracting herself from current thoughts.

His answer didn't take much thought, " _a fool, of course. Any Khal without a horse can't be much of a Khal._ "

" _Yes, but, what of these tales of an iron chair across the black water?_ " She pressed further, watching him more than their destination now.

" _An iron chair?"_ Rakharo asked, laughter filling his voice. "What sort of childish tale did he hear that from?"

Dahleena can't resist the lopsided grin that takes over her expression at Rakharo's blatant disbelief. Despite the momentary joy, it doesn't fully lift that sense of dread hanging in the back of Dahleena's mind.

  
Another hour passed before the horde had arrived in the city, the thundering of their horse's hooves heard from miles away.

Drogo held a hand up to stop the horde, only his bloodriders allowed with him past the gates into Pentos. It wasn't hard to spot the home of the man that had been passing messages on from Viserys, Illyrio Mopatis she believed his name was. They, of course, didn't enter the luxurious home itself but rode up to the front steps. It didn't take long for Illyrio to step out, introducing his guests, though Dahleena barely listened to a word of the exaggerated entrance. The first thing she noticed was the long, silver hair that both the man and woman possessed. They had fair features and vibrant, lavender eyes to match those features, both held an unspoken aura of elegance and authority. The woman, a girl who didn't seem much older than Dahleena herself, walked down the steps and approached them.

This was the bride that Drogo had been promised? She was beautiful, more than beautiful, angelic. Dahleena had trouble taking her eyes off the timid girl, who looked up at Drogo on his horse like she was staring down a mighty beast. There was a thick silence in the air, riddled with tension and just like that, it evaporated as Drogo turned his horse and called to the other riders, beckoning for them to follow. The horses kicked up dust on the path beneath them as they rode out of the city just as quickly as they had entered, rejoining the rest of the Khalasar.

" _He liked her_ " Rakharo said with a raised brow when they began the walk back to their temporary camp.

Dahleena, who was distracted by thoughts of both the young woman and the man they had called her brother, wasn't able to give much of an answer. " _It would appear so._ "  


* * *

It was nightfall when they’d reached Winterfell the next night, the courtyard of the Keep emptied as everyone was inside, attending the feast. They hadn’t even set foot inside the Keep itself and Araye was already tense. Not being confronted with any of the residents of the Keep besides guards had helped ease her feeling of being a fish out of water but only so much. Benjen, however, seemed thrilled the whole time and that joy only grew when he’d spotted a lone boy in the courtyard.

Araye couldn’t see his face as he was turned around, beating his sword into the training dummy. His vigorous and forceful movements seeming to suggest that he was attempting to release energy rather than actually train. Her brow furrowed just slightly, for once finding herself curious rather than just eager to have the whole experience over with.

“Is he dead yet?” Benjen called to the man who turned as soon as he heard his voice, wavy black locks swinging with him. His face shifted from a stony grimace to excitement as he spotted Benjen.

“Uncle Benjen!” The man called back in greeting to them and Araye understood Benjen’s excitement suddenly. This was the nephew he never shut up about. Plenty of times Benjen had asked Araye to let him introduce her to this ‘Jon’ that he spoke highly of. Admittedly, she had wondered what made Benjen favor this nephew over all the others, what was so different about him to his siblings?

Upon them reaching one another, they both wrapped their arms around each other in the tight, overwhelming hugs she knew Benjen to give. Araye took the opportunity to get a decent look at the boy’s face. He looked recently clean-shaven, likely for the King’s arrival. The wavy hair she had already taken note of stopped just below his jaw, with a set of deep brown eyes to accompany such lovely flowing locks. Araye just knew that he made all the girls in the Keep swoon. The two soon pulled apart from each other, a soft growl rumbling in Araye’s throat before forcing herself to approach. It was likely best that she hold her tongue here but somehow she felt that wasn’t going to happen. Nephew or no nephew, he was just another spoiled brat of a man, all the ones that grew up in places like this were.

“You got bigger” Benjen exclaimed after taking a moment to look over the boy he hadn’t seen in some time. “We rode all day, didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters” upon Benjen saying we, Jon finally took notice of the other person present. Araye struggled not to become hostile as soon as the boy’s eyes turned on to her, looking her up and down.

“Who is she?” Jon asked Benjen, taking a step or two back to give them breathing room.

“Jon, this is Araye White, my apprentice, and Ranger of the Night’s Watch, Araye, this is Jon Snow, my nephew.” The last name was what first caught Araye’s attention, he was a bastard. No wonder Benjen spoke differently of this one, the entire span of her and Benjen’s friendship she had known him to take a shine to outsiders, those that didn’t fit in.

Jon’s previously happy expression fell noticeably at the question, “Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.”

Benjen slowly nodded his head, Araye able to almost see the gears turning in his head. “Well, you’re always welcome on the wall, no bastard was ever refused a seat there.” Benjen rose a hand, gently clapping the younger man on the shoulder.

Jon had obviously seen his opportunity “so take me with you when you go back.”

The rate at which Araye’s demeanor shifted was like lightning, teeth grinding together, and eyes narrowing. The idea of someone wanting to go to the wall was infuriating in of itself, and it only gave her the impression that he was naive. “Jon--”, Benjen began but Jon pressed on. “Father will let me if you ask him...I know he will.”

“The wall isn’t going anywhere”, Benjen attempted to coerce him away from the subject but Jon pressed him, “I’m ready.”

Araye’s voice snapped through the cold air towards the boy, hostility drenching every word in its venom, “no one’s ever ready for the wall.” 

Jon’s eyes switched to her quickly after she spoke, louring expression focusing on her "I thought they didn’t allow women in the Night’s Watch.”

Araye’s lips turned up into a smirk, eyebrows arching with amusement at his words that were clearly meant to offend her on some level. “They don’t, you should be careful though, they just might mistake you for one.”

Jon stepped towards her to inquire further with obvious hostility “and what do you do? Clean their chamber pots?”

Araye’s eyes flared with anger and instinctively her hand came to rest on the dagger on her hip “I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless you want an arrow through the back of your throat.”

“Go ahead and try if you think you can draw fast enough--”

Benjen yelled out and stopped the two of them “Enough! Both of you!” The two still glared at one another, loathing obvious in their eyes though they remained silent for Benjen’s sake.

“I’m heading to the inn” Araye grumbled to Benjen before breaking her stand-off with Jon. Her movements were stiff, suggesting she was barely holding herself back as she left the courtyard.

* * *

Crimson lips pressed against either side of the golden chalice, the ruby red liquid within rushing down the drinker’s throat. She slowly lowered the glass from her face, revealing an icy blue stare that watched over all the merriment in the room with disinterest. Though, there was something about her demeanor that said she may not seem it but she was paying close attention. A few strands of her chin-length black bangs brushed against her jaw as a long sigh left her nostrils. Cendaia Baratheon didn't much care for events like these, they were a waste of time, all that was accomplished was her sitting around and watching her father whore himself between women while her step-mother looked on. While Cersei’s obvious anger always gave her at least a little joy, she wasn’t in the mood tonight. Not here in Winterfell at least.

Everything about her had said it from the moment she set foot off the carriage. Cendaia did not want to be here. For many reasons but the foremost one being that this place served only to remind her of her mother. Lyanna Stark had been dead for years and her memory still haunted Cendaia’s every thought. As if this wasn’t enough, she had to endure even more time than necessary with the Lannisters. There were few people in this world that she could earnestly say she hated more than the Targaryens and the blonde, green-eyed sycophants of Casterly Rock were some of them. At least she could say the feeling was mutual, for she was sure Cersei would’ve slit her throat in front of this whole hall if she could.

Cendaia took a quick survey of the room again, noting her father’s pre-occupancy with the wench on his lap. She stood from her chair, sliding past Cersei who she knew wouldn’t bat an eye to her disappearance and walking for the doors. The silence of the rest of the Keep was a welcome exchange to the loud, crowded banquet hall behind her. She pulled the thick coat she wore tighter around herself, trying to block out the cold that pricked at her skin. As she was about to make her way to her room, a voice interrupted her thought process and effectively stopped her in her tracks.

  
"Shouldn't you be in there, enjoying the party?" Asked the very last person she wanted to hear from at this moment. 

"Shouldn't you be at the brothel?" Cendaia snapped back at him as she turned to face the man.

Tyrion chuckled as he held a bottle of wine by the neck, "let me guess, this is your first time in the North?"

She scoffed "have you really no idea who my mother is?" 

Tyrion offered her a fake smile "Of course, Lyanna Stark. However, she died before you got a chance to be properly introduced to your Northern relatives. Which would mean that you’ve never seen the North."

Her crimson lips pulled into a devious smile as she said; "look who knows his history."

"I read enough about it, if there’s a soul in the Kingdom who doesn’t know then they’re either idiots or worse. There is one bit of history I don’t know though,” Tyrion began, leaning his shoulder into the nearby wall, “why is it they call you the raven queen?”

Cendaia scoffed and muttered mockingly "raven queen”, she shook her head, "I've been called many things but why that title has stuck with me I will never know."

Tyrion’s brow was quirked at her, assuming she wasn’t going to answer his question he referred to his first "as I said before, shouldn't you be enjoying yourself in there?”

She glared at him before turning to walk away "I came out here to get away from your family."

As she walked away, Tyrion chortled to himself and muttered under his breath "they should've called you the ice queen."

* * *

The drums played loudly enough to overcome the noise of the wind rushing off the sea waters and whistling through the air. The Dothraki dancers wildly moved in the center of the gathered crowd, little to no clothing for the pleasure of the men present. 

Dahleena had once been interested in the dancers, in her younger years. Though the older she got, the less interested she found herself in these women. Not for the fact that she no longer found them attractive but because she discovered more often than not they were receptive to Dothraki men taking pleasure in them. For now, her eyes were locked onto Khal Drogo’s new bride, Daenerys of House Targaryen, that’s what Illyrio had called her. An elegant name for an elegant young woman, Dahleena found herself growing more and more curious about her by the day.

She had inquired Drogo about his feelings on his new bride and hadn’t gotten much of an answer but it was to be expected. Drogo had never been much of a talker, especially not in front of others, even in their youth he had waited until it was just them to speak with her. Her attention turned away from the Targaryen woman and scanned the crowd again before unexpectedly finding another beautiful face.

Her long and slightly wavy dark brown hair was pulled into a loose braid, mostly to be kept out of her face. Her skin was fair, telling Dahleena that she was likely from Pentos. Her eyes, the same shade of the majority of the horse's pelts in the Khalasar, rich brown. Her brows rose, knowing she shouldn’t stare but couldn’t tear her eyes way and that was when she was caught by said woman. 

  
Dahleena was hesitant, most of the Dothraki women who caught her staring at them were never pleased and to try and perhaps lessen the anger, she offered her best smile. Unexpectedly (but to Dahleena’s delight) the woman she was watching’s face slowly lifted into a bashful smile. The girl’s eyes had turned downward, cheeks burning pink but that was before they were distracted. Angered grunts had broken the sounds of festivity, two men currently fighting over one of the dancers that lay in the sand. Dahleena rolled her eyes, scoffing beneath her breath at the sheer stupidity of it all. She understood the appeal of fighting for the right to a woman but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. 

The feminine scream that came from the crowd had so violently shaken her from her thoughts that Dahleena was immediately on the alert. It didn’t take long for her to spot the source, the woman she had just met eyes with was being forced down onto all fours by a member of the Khalasar. Without hesitance, Dahleena began pushing people aside to get to them, yanking her arakh from her hip when she was in the clearing.

" _Leave her be!_ " She shouted over the drums and fighting, his head snapping up to look at her as he snarled and stood, unsheathing his own blade as he walked to meet Dahleena.

" _This one is mine, Dahleena_ " he snarled at her, pointing the arakh at her.

" _She is not Dothrak, leave her, there are plenty of other wanting women here._ ” She stresses the words to him, hoping he’d listen and leave the woman be. She knows he won’t.

He laughed loudly for the others to hear, “ _and what fun is it if they don’t put up a fight?_ ”

Dahleena’s eyes narrowed, hands tightening into a fist as she spoke lowly, " _I won’t ask you again. **Leave. Her. Be.**_ " 

In one moment, the man is only shaking his head at her, flaring his nostrils in his anger and the next he’s lunging for her. Before he could truly get a decent hit in; she had ducked around him and used her blade as a hook, slamming it into the front of his head. The arakh’s tip barely visible through his hair where it protruded from the back of his skull. His body was frozen on the sword as blood dripped from the crevice in his head. With a hard yank, it pulled through his skull, blood, and brain matter had subsequently splattered the ground, Dahleena’s arm, and her torso. He collapsed to the ground and Dahleena hesitated only to catch her breath before placing a boot on his back, stooping over to grab the lengthy braid that had fallen over his shoulder into the growing pool of blood. She swung the arakh down, slicing through the tendrils of thick, black hair and releasing his braid from his scalp.

One arm raised up, holding the braid as for the rest of the khalasar to see and listening to their roar of approval. Drogo grinned from where he sent, leaning forward to the edge of his seat.

  
  
Viserys stared at Dahleena as she let the braid drop to the ground, leaning towards Illyrio and asking him, “who is she?”

“Dahleena, one of the Khal’s bloodriders” Illyrio explained, watching the woman now as well.

Viserys’s brow was furrowed as he looked to Illyrio “I thought the Dothraki didn’t respect women.”

“They don’t, Dahleena has known Khal Drogo since childhood thus gained his favor early on. She’s one of the most skilled fighters in Drogo’s Khalasar, though most other Khal don’t think she should be given the privilege of riding at his side.” Daenerys had been listening to the men’s conversation as well, watching Dahleena with a silent but pondering gaze.

Dahleena had finally turned to look back at the woman she had killed for, slinging the gore from her arakh before putting it back in its holster. She held her hand out to her and the woman initially only stared up at her, hesitant to grab it after the act she’d just watched her commit, but she did all the same. 

  
"Thank you", the woman said but then after seemed to realize her mistake, "oh, I'm sorry you don't--"

"Speak the common tongue?" Dahleena finished for her with a half-smile. 

She appeared surprised to say the least before a smile spilt across her face "how do you know common tongue?"

"I was taught by the slave that looked after me when I was young...are you alright?"

The woman nodded her head swiftly "yes, thanks to you. Can you tell me your name?"

Dahleena, unsure of the proper greetings, tried recalling something she’d seen before. She’d witnessed many merchants bowing to one another, as well as grabbing each other’s hands. Fearful of embarrassing herself, she held a hand out towards the woman "Dahleena, and you?"

The woman, far more comfortable after realizing Dahleena meant not harm, gently grasped her hand in her own. The bloodrider was quick to notice the apparent softness in contrast to her rough, calloused hand. As their eyes met again, she felt that same feeling, warmth, and a certain sensation of acceptance that was rare for her.

“Doreah” the woman gave her name finally.

“It--pleases me to meet you, Doreah.” She cringes internally after, that had to be the wrong way to greet someone, no one from across the black water she met spoke like that.

Despite it, Doreah giggled softly at the woman’s odd but not incorrect politeness “it pleases me as well, Dahleena."


	2. The Kingsroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Mentions of rape, ableism and child abuse/neglect

The ride back to Vaes Dothrak would be a long one but a more joyous one than the one to Pentos. They were headed home and there was nowhere in the world Dahleena would rather ride. Granted, her stirring suspicions about the elder Targaryen had refused to settle even when they were out of the city and she doubted it would cease even when they were safely back home. But, Viserys was of little concern to her at the moment. Rather, her worried gaze was focused on the white mare and its rider.

Drogo had gifted the horse to Daenerys as their wedding present, Dahleena remembering the hefty price he had paid for such a horse. They traded thirty slaves for it, the merchant who sold her to them insisting she came from a long lineage of prized horses. Dahleena thought it was a fanciful tale and the horse’s value was more equivalent to at least ten but it was not her place to speak of. Clearly exhausted and seeming distraught, the young girl was clinging tightly to the reigns of her horse, blank eyes staring down at where her hands rested.

When had she last eaten? Taken a drink? Likely not since they left Pentos, with the heat of the grasslands, she wouldn’t make it to their resting spot in that condition. She pulled Lavakho away from her spot with the other Bloodriders, a few’s attention being grabbed as their comrade left. Daenerys had been so far lost in her thoughts she didn’t even notice the stallion slowly coming to a stop beside her. 

“Khaleesi?” She addressed her in the ever formal manner she usually took, the girl’s head snapping up to stare at the rider at her side. Daenerys immediately recognized her as the woman from before, Dahleena, that is what Illyrio had said her name was.

“I’m sorry I was...nevermind. Have we met?” Daenerys said, attempting to distract her mind from the aching she felt in her legs. 

“There is no apology needed, Khaleesi”, Dahleena dipped her head respectfully, keeping her voice softer than usual for the clearly nervous girl “my name is Dahleena. Khal Drogo has asked that I be your personal guard. You look tired, you should drink something, it will help,”

“and eat.” Another voice cut in and Dahleena’s head swiveled over her shoulder to see an older man approaching. His eyes were the first thing she noticed, crow’s feet extending from the corners of two soft hazel irises, eyes that had seen their fair share of the world she sensed. Dahleena recognized him from the wedding, he’d bent the knee and pledged himself to serve her brother, Viserys. Something told her to be wary of him, but admittedly, she was wary of most outsiders.

His hand extends, offering the Khaleesi a strip of dark, cooked beech tree bark. Initially, Dahleena ponders if she should’ve checked the food beforehand. Though, the man didn’t seem the type who was foolish enough to poison the Khal’s new bride in front of his Ko. Daenerys is disheartened at the food given to her, pleading with the man “isn’t there anything else?”

The older man shakes his head, looking at the rest of the passing Khalasar “I’m sorry, Khaleesi. The Dothraki have two things in abundance, horses and grass...and you can’t live on grass.” Daenerys though hesitant as her nose wrinkled at the strip of bark, took a small bite from the end. It took work to fully pull off and chew but Dahleena found herself relax significantly when seeing Daenerys eat.

Her head turns away from the Khaleesi to the man now on the other side of her, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ser Jorah Mormont”, he introduced himself to her with a nod of his head, “and you’re Dahleena...Khal Drogo’s Ko, the first Dothraki woman to own such a title.” 

  
  


Dahleena gave no response to Jorah’s appraisal of her position, but couldn’t hide the way her lips turned up at one corner into a smirk. She had a right to be proud of it, she’d earned the right to her pride after fighting so hard to keep it.

Daenerys only spoke after swallowing the small bite of flavorless wood, “how did you become a--”, she struggles to remember the word they used, “bloodrider, if the Dothraki normally choose men?”

She had expected the question, most asked sooner or later after all. It was a tale that, despite its horrors, she enjoyed recounting. “My mother was one of Khal Bharbo’s wives. A man who I am told is from a place across the black water called ‘Dorne’ came to Vaes Dothrak and lay with her for one night. However, Bharbo was not pleased that his wife had betrayed him and killed the man, but my mother already had me inside of her. He shunned her and me, though, my brother hadn’t seemed to share his opinion.” 

Dahleena tilts her chin to where Khal Drogo currently road at the head of the Khalasar, “I was raised by one of the slaves and taught to fight by the blood of my blood, Rakharo’s father. My mother was murdered when I was old enough to ride but when Bharbo finally died, Drogo asked me to become blood of his blood.” She looks to her audience who had seemed less than impressed by the tale’s end. “It’s not as glorious a tale as many would have you believe.”

A chuckle was the first noise either one of them made, Jorah’s grin gleaming with amusement, “I heard from one of the masters in Pentos that you had killed an army of one thousand men and attached each one of their heads to your horse.”

Dahleena scoffs loudly at the tall tale, “Lavakho can’t even find his own tail.” As if in protest to the claim, Lavakho snorts loudly, pawing impatiently at the ground beneath them.

Daenerys smiled at the response, but one question still lingered on her mind “and what of the men that murdered your mother?”

Dahleena’s expression quickly shifted as she looked at the girl. The pride of her initial re-telling of the story vanishing in a flash. “The men were merchants from Asshai, they raped and murdered my mother in an alley in Vaes Dothrak. I knew their names and their faces for I had seen them once before in our market and while the Khal’s discussed what to do with them...I cut their heads from their necks and gave them to Drogo as a gift.” 

Daenerys’s eyes widened initially but then flitted down to her hands as she mulled over Dahleena’s past actions. Of course she knew well what the Dothraki were capable of and yet the violence she’d heard of and witnessed from them thus far still seemed to surprise her. She didn’t understand how anyone could get used to seeing it. This was the woman that Drogo had wanted to protect her and she could understand why now. As much as the Dothraki woman didn’t seem to fit in with the expectations for other Bloodriders, she was as fierce as they were.

They stopped as night began to crawl upon them, setting up camp near one of the rivers that ran through the Dothraki sea. Most of the women of the Khalasar and slaves were washing clothing as well as preparing what food they had.

Lavakho shoved his nose roughly into Dahleena’s side as she removed his reins for the night. “ _ Yes, yes, I bought your carrots before we left, ungrateful shit. _ ” She grumbles beneath her breath, the words affectionate despite her insult. She hung the reins on the pole extending from her tent before digging in the saddle bag. She pulls the now day old vegetables from the satchel and despite their lack of freshness, Lavakho is eager to snatch one from her hand. Despite her amusement with his eagerness to bed fed, she’s distracted by the sight a short ways away.

Jorah carefully wraps his hands around Daenerys’s waist to pull her down from her horse, setting her gently on the ground. As soon as she was down, she was fussed over by her handmaidens, who immediately focused on her palms which had been rubbed raw. Jorah, initially watches worriedly after the Khaleesi before taking notice of eyes on him. He looks in Dahleena’s direction, who’s head quickly snaps away though he was already approaching her. She offers the next carrot to Lavakho by the time he’s made it over to her.

Seeing as how she did get herself into this situation with a prying gaze, she speaks first. “In time, her skin will harden against the leather of the reins.”

Jorah looked towards Dahleena out of the corner of his eye and then the tent Daenerys was rushed into. “Will Drogo be easier on her after seeing this?” 

Dahleena grimaces, shaking her head “to ask a Khal to hold his appetite for his new bride at bay is not a task I’d suggest attempting.”

“You there!” The voice called out and interrupted their current dilemma. Dahleena and Jorah looked back and watched with intrigued as Viserys approached. Dahleena’s brow furrowed and her grimace deepened but she tried her best to hide the displeasure she felt at ‘the dragon's’ appearance. 

“Your grace” Jorah greeted him, but Viserys paid no mind, far more focused on Dahleena.

“Do you know the common tongue?” She nodded her head for him but said nothing, “Good, I have a job for you. I would like you to assist me as my temporary Kingsguard, are you familiar with that word?” 

Dahleena, who knew very little about Westerosians and their customs, was at a loss. She looks to Jorah for assistance, hoping he could explain the meaning behind this word, “a Kingsguard in Westeros are defenders of the men who sit on the Iron Throne.

There it was, talk of this ‘iron throne’ that Viserys seemed nothing short of obsessed with. Still, an answer was being demanded of her and she was able to form a connection. “They are blood of his blood then?” Dahleena asked. 

Jorah, after consideration, nodded, “essentially.” 

At which point, Dahleena turned her head back to the silver haired man and said, “I am blood of the Khal, I cannot be a sister to two of you.” 

Viserys, clearly insulted by the casual refusal, had just opened his mouth to object before Dahleena spoke first. “I must tend to my hunger, now, goodbye Jorah the Andal.” She pats Lavakho’s side before tucking the carrots back into the satchel, hardly aware of Viserys’s baffled stammering. Without another word, she walked away, heading towards where the other Bloodriders had gathered.

He stared after her in bewilderment “what did she  _ just _ do?” 

Jorah was hesitant to give a response, “I believe she refused you, your grace.” 

Viserys’s head whipped towards him, anger burning inside his lilac irises before stomping away, grumbling beneath his breath. Jorah worried of the wrath others may suffer at the hands of the angered would-be king but was still unable to repress the smile that split over his face.

* * *

One stormy-grey eye cracked open at the sounds of a mournful howl, undoubtedly from Winterfell’s kennels. How they managed to find the loudest dog in all of Westeros was a mystery to her. She sat up in her bed, rubbing tiredly at her face and looking to the bed on the opposite end of the room only to discover Benjen wasn’t in it.

It didn’t take long before she was leaving the Inn, heading back into Winterfell’s Keep as she assumed that was where he’d be. She was right, there he stood by the stables, strapping the saddle onto his black horse.

“Trying to leave me in this wretched hole?” Araye asks, stopping besides him as she further observes the weaponry he was packing.

Benjen glances up at her only for a moment, “morning. The King requested that I join him and Ned on a hunt. You might do well to come along.”

A ‘tch’ is what he gets in response to his idea, he hadn’t expected much else but it was polite to offer. “I don’t fancy listening to old men pride themselves on catching rabbits just as old as they are.”

Benjen smiled at the insulting words he knew her to give out without batting an eye. “Aye, suit yourself, I’ll be back soon and we’ll leave for the Wall then.” He pauses after tightening the strap on his saddle bag again, ensuring it was shut properly. “Jon is going with us.”

Araye had been utterly disinterested up until that point, head turning towards him with pink lips barely parted. “That pampered little shit is taking the black?” Benjen opened his mouth to argue in his nephew’s favor, but Araye was continuing, “Benjen, you have to know that boy is going to die up there. The recruits who have seen life outside of a castle barely last two weeks, what do you think he’ll be able to do?”

“Don’t be so quick to assume that just because he’s highborn means he can’t hold his own.” Benjen scolded her, “I was born here and I’ve seen the starts and ends of plenty of winters at Castle Black.”   
  


Some part of her knows he’s right and that only seems to anger her further. Jon Snow looked like he’d barely spent a night outside of a warm home with a belly full of food. How could Benjen really believe that him of all people would last on the wall? Resisting the urge to argue him further, she huffed and stormed past him, blonde braid swinging furiously behind her. Benjen can only watch her walk away, shaking his head as he sighs, “may the old protect you, Jon.”

Araye’s mind was filled with urges to take out her anger on whatever possible but knew that was impossible here, so her plan was to ready her horse to head home. But as if the seven themselves were working against her, as she passed the blacksmith she saw the very subject of her anger. 

Jon was standing there with a freshly forged sword in his hand, examining it seemingly. She stopped beneath the wall’s overhang, watching him swing the oddly thin, small blade. He had form to his motions, possessed more grace than she saw last night. He did know how to handle a weapon but so had many men before him at the Wall and none of them were left standing now. As much as it went against her own instincts to not give what would soon be a corpse in the coming months the time of day, there were a lot of things she’d do for Benjen. She forced her stiff legs to move towards the man, approaching quietly from behind. She stood there for a moment without him even realizing her presence before she spoke. “I hope that’s not the blade you’re taking with you.”

When he turns to look at her he’s clearly a little less than pleased. Their interaction the previous night hadn’t exactly given him a pleasant idea of what the woman before him was like, “I’ve already got mine. This is just a gift.”

At least he had that much common sense, she doesn’t say the words out loud but oh how she wants to. Her eyes instead fall to the blade on his hip now, not able to get a good look at it while it was safely hidden in its sheath. “You’ve used it already then?”

“Of course” Jon responds with a put out tone.

Her eyes roll, “of course you’ve  _ used _ it, I mean have you killed someone with it?”

That seemed to have sucked all the pride right from him as a smug smile crossed Araye’s face. Just as she thought, Benjen didn’t know as much as he liked to think he did. Even if he’d been trained in the use of that weapon, none of it mattered unless he knew what it was like to take a life. She could see it now, they’d drag his body back after he froze just as he was about to shove that blade into a wildling or a wolf or whatever other manner of beast attacked. “The Wall isn’t a place for you to run to because daddy didn’t give you the dog you wanted for your name day.” Sarcasm bleeds from her words and Jon is immediately up in arms, she can practically feel the heat boiling off of his blood.

"I’m not running from anything, I’ve waited my whole life for this. The Night’s Watch has protected the realm for thousands of years--”

“That’s what you think we are?” she laughed, an unpleasant sound that only caused Jon’s teeth to grate together.

“Let me give you advice, bastard, the Night’s Watch isn’t some fairy tail knighthood where we prance around on white stallions and fight heroic battles then sing songs of our victories. Once you say your vows, you give up your family, name, lands, everything you have or will have.” 

The two stared at each one another for a long moment before Jon finally broke the heavy silence, “nothing you say is going to change my mind. I’m going to the wall whether you want me there or not.” 

Araye shook her head in pure disapproval, nostrils flaring as she spits back at him. “We’ll see how you feel about that decision when a Wildling has his spear shove up your arse.” With her final words delivered on the subject, she turns and finally leaves him to his devices.

Jon was unable to help but wonder how Benjen could ever bear being around that woman.

* * *

Cendaia had been seated within the darkened hall (save for the daylight coming in from the windows), taking another bite from the grilled fish on her plate. This is how she preferred it, her father and the Queen gone, no guards or other civilians in sight. No one left to whisper about her. The noise of the door opening and closing was what originally got her attention but she didn’t bother to look up. Naturally, she assumed that it was only one of the cupbearers coming in to clean up the previous occupant's leftovers. But then she felt the bench shift as someone sat beside her and glanced up from the corner of her eye to see the Lord of Winterfell himself. 

Eddard Stark didn’t pay much mind to her other than giving a polite greeting of, “my Lady.” Cendaia was baffled by his seemingly random appearance but did return his greeting eventually.

“Lord Stark'' Her icy eyes flicked down to the plate before her once again, hesitating in the continued enjoyment of her meal. Ned was the uncle she had never gotten a chance to meet because of her father. Then again, that was simply the case for all her Northern relatives. “I hear my father is forcing you to endure the torture of a hunt with him.” She broke the silence of the hall. 

Ned was admittedly surprised to find the Princess had any interest in speaking with him. From what Robert had told him thus far of Cendaia she was not one to associate herself with others much. Then again, Robert had also once told him that if he became King then there would be a national wine and tits day. “It’s an honor to be asked on a hunt with his grace.” 

Cendaia repressed the urge to scoff at him. “An honor indeed” was what she did manage to get out. Another awkward moment of silence passed between the two of them before Ned turned his head to fully look at her. Examining the icy hue of her eyes and the shine of her ebony hair. It was true that she bore a striking resemblance to his sister. “The last time I saw you, you were a babe” her eyes flitted to him quickly. 

  
  


Finding the topic change unusual but not unpleasant, a smile pulled across her crimson lips as she chuckled, “it’s been too long then.” 

Ned barely cracked the slightest smile before his face went back to the brooding expression it often held. After he took his first bite of the food he asked her, “how are you finding the North?” 

She appeared to be contemplating her answer before raising her shoulder in a lazy shrug. “If I’m going to be honest with you, I prefer the South, cold and I have never agreed with another. Suppose it’d be different if my mother was alive but unfortunately I’ve been bred as a Southerner." 

Ned dipped his head in understanding of her qualms with the weather conditions. “Then how are you finding Winterfell?” If she could not agree with the North then perhaps her opinion of the capital.

“It’s lovely, truly, your people are very welcoming of guests. It’s hard to find that these days” Cendaia admitted with a glint of admiration inside of her eyes. "Your family is lovely and your children are very well behaved. Especially Sansa, she’s a pretty young girl. I hear she may be my sister soon?” 

Ned curtly nodded his head as confirmation, “aye on your father's request." Ned was still attempting to get used to the idea that he’d be marrying off his eldest daughter soon. To the prince of all people, something about it seemed to rub him the wrong way and he couldn’t point out why. Perhaps it was a natural fatherly instinct or maybe something more. 

“I’m sure their grandchildren will be beautiful,” Cendaia said once more and interrupted Ned’s train of thought.

“Oi, Ned!” Robert’s booming voice interrupted the two, their heads turning back to see the King approaching. Robert already had the spear he usually took on hunts in hand, Ned stood as he approached. Robert had been quick to notice Cendaia who had chosen not to really acknowledge her father’s presence as she remained seated. “She going on about how she hates my hunts again?” There was a clear note of humor in his voice. Though it only served as irritation for Cendaia who put on a false smile before forcing herself to stand. She turned to face her father and uncle, chin raised slightly.

“No worries, dearest father, we were simply holding a pleasant conversation about Winterfell and its inhabitants. Have a bountiful hunt.” The last four words of the sentence dripped with venom and caused a scowl to pull across Robert’s face. He had not gotten a chance to reprimand Cendaia for it however because she spared a last farewell glance to Ned, and then was out of the hall.

* * *

They were deep within the woods by the time Ned had finally spoken his first words (since their departure at least) to Robert. “About Cendaia…” Ned began and drew Robert's attention. 

The man's brow had furrowed and caused the corners of his darkened navy eyes to crinkle slightly. “By the seven, Ned, I’m trying to get drunk and stick things. Not think about my mistakes.” 

The comment caused one of Ned’s brows to arch but he dismissed it for the sake of his friend but mostly on behalf of his question, “they call Cendaia the Raven Queen.” 

Robert snorted mostly to himself as he muttered under his breath, “bloody stupid name” but sighed after. “What of it?” 

Ned’s eyes strayed away from Robert onto the trail before them again, “why?” 

Robert chortled in amusement, “why does it matter? I could stop right now to piss in a pond and they’d called me ‘The Piss Pond King’. They’ll give anyone a name for doing anything.” Ned’s expression shifted into a scowl at Robert’s refusal to answer him, eyes stabbing into the King and sinking into his very soul. The silence caused chills to creep up Robert’s spine and he finally dared to glance at Ned.

As soon as he caught a glimpse of that piercing look he’d been familiar with since youth, a half growl and half sigh left him. “Cendaia insisted on having a raven for her thirteenth name day and no matter how much anyone tried to persuade her into getting something else. She’d keep pestering people saying, ‘ _ I want a white raven, a white raven! _ ’ I told her that no one but the citadel had white ravens and they only sent them out when winter came. But come her name day, sitting in a cage with an Arryn sigil; was a white raven. Just a babe still but she trained it to be a personal messenger, gave the damned thing a collar and all. The handmaidens started it and before I knew it, the whole bloody Keep was calling her the Raven Queen.”

* * *

The hunt had taken a full day but when the King and his party returned, they prepared their leave. Araye’d had her fill of politics, Kings and noblemen, she wanted nothing more than to be back at Castle Black. She didn’t understand herself how she could think so poorly of the Watch and its people yet prefer it to the rest of Westeros. 

Araye’s horse moved at the leisurely pace she had chosen until Benjen’s steed stopped beside her. She looked first to him then behind them at what he was looking at only to feel the familiar rise of irritability. Jon Snow and Eddard Stark were saying their goodbyes to one another, as expected ( Araye thought they should’ve done it in Winterfell ). Despite her urge to keep moving to get back as soon as possible, Araye waited for Benjen. “Does he have to take so fucking long?”

As much as Benjen tried to repress the chuckle that left him he simply couldn’t. The noise caused Araye’s head to snap over to the older man, the scowl already on her face deepening, “Something funny, Stark?” She grumbled. 

He shook his head before fully turning to look over at her. The scowls that caused other men to simper before Araye would never be more than child-like pouts to him. No matter how much it always angered her, Benjen had never been able to bring himself to fear anything about Araye. It didn’t matter how many times she would threaten to ‘cut off his balls’ or ‘put an arrow in his eye’. Benjen knew that she would never hold true to any of her threats against him. On some level, he knew Araye accepted that fact as well though good luck getting her to admit to it. She was the wolf cub that bullied the other pups relentlessly but come the bark of her father and she always ran back with her tail between her legs. 

“I’ve never seen someone get under your skin as much as my nephew” he spoke with a grin. 

Araye’s eyes narrowed towards him. “Tch”, she turned her head away from him to look ahead of them again. “He doesn’t get under my skin, he’s just a bigger prick than usual” she muttered as her annoyance with the entire situation seemed to be increasing by the moment. 

“Is that the cold talking or are you blushing, Araye?” Benjen teased her further and caused Araye’s patience with his jabs to finally snap. 

“I don’t give a shit about your bastard nephew and if you ever suggest that I blush again, I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep and use his pretty hair to string them up.” A long silence followed her threat though Benjen was still grinning like the devil. 

He dared to peek at her from the corner of his eyes before looking back to Jon and Ned “So you fancy him?”

“Fuck off and die”, Araye growled abruptly in response, hearing his hearty laughter behind her as she urged her horse into a full gallop and ran ahead.

* * *

  
  


The stops on the way to the capitol were the best aspect of the trip back for Cendaia. Solely for the fact that it meant not continuing to be cooped up in a carriage with her father, Cersei and their children. Tommen and Myrcella weren’t the issue as while she wasn’t particularly close with either, they weren’t nearly as insufferable as Joffrey. The oldest prince had all the worst aspects of both her father and the Queen and somehow he made them even worse than they did.

Out of the carriage, she could be free of the whole family, taking in the fresh air and the warmth that licked at her pale skin. They’d finally broken free of the gloomy clouds of the North, the sky blue for the first time in days and the sun shining as bright as ever. A light breeze rustled the blades of green grass around them and the leaves of the trees. Her head turned away from the sky and looked to where her father sat with Ned at the table they’d brought along. They were drinking mostly but Robert was also feasting on the rewards of his hunt. They were talking, of course, but Cendaia was too far to even begin to make out the words. She did notice that her father’s face had become more serious and he seemed dedicated to what he was telling Ned.

“Cendaia” her attention was ripped from the men in the field below and to the woman approaching her. She hadn’t looked at her long but catching a glimpse of blonde hair and pink clothing was enough to tell her who it was.

“Your grace” she greeted Cersei in return, voice stoic. Her attention turned back to the fields before her, back to watching her father and uncle. 

“What do you suppose they're talking about?” Cersei inquired her and Cendaia was admittedly surprised, the Queen was never interested in conversing with her. 

“What old men usually discuss...war, women, wine” a smile cracked over Cersei’s lips at that. Even letting the slightest hint of a laugh slip from behind her closed lips. Despite her hatred for the Queen, she could appreciate moments like this, fleeting instances of calm. 

“Do you know what’s become of my brother?” She asked next and just like that, that instance had vanished into the summer air.

“Which one, the Kingslayer or the Imp?” Cendaia asks without emotion and yet the words held so much malice.

Cersei, as unimpressed as she was, only balls her hands tighter together. “Jaime” she says for her, turning her head to look at the princess.

Cendaia’s eyes took a moment to leave the men in the field, “he was with my father but left a moment ago, I’m not sure to where.” 

Satisfied with Cendaia’s answer, her green eyes scan the field to see if she could spot Jaime elsewhere but found she was right in him having disappeared. “I see” she finally said, her displeased tone evident to Cendaia.

“I need you to sit in the other cart on the way back, Tommen says he feels too crowded. Oh”, she pauses, as if remembering something important, “what you did back in Winterfell, giving Myrcella that ratty old doll...don’t ever speak to my children again, or give them whatever silly things you find. I don’t want them thinking your presence is welcomed.” The words were sharp and might’ve hurt Cendaia at one point, but, it wasn’t an unexpected reaction from Cersei. She wasn’t sure what had made Cendaia cave in that moment to the sweet little girl’s begging. What made her want to give her the doll that one of the Winterfell children had offered her. Cendaia says nothing in response to Cersei, which only tests the Queen’s patience further. “Have I made myself clear?”

She hates showing submission to the Lannister, but the alternative is a hell that she knows only Cersei could inflict and it was worse than any cruel words. “Yes, your grace, I apologize.”

Cersei is satisfied now that the Baratheon girl has been effectively silenced, a venomous smile mocking Cendaia wordlessly. “Be careful about what names you call my family by, Cendaia. Despite what you may feel, you’re not immune to the punishments your betters can inflict.”

There it was, the subtle threats that she had learned to live with all her life. Silenced at every turn by the lioness, her father and anyone else that didn’t want to hear what the Forgotten Princess had to say. She had been effectively banished to the very shadows of her life ever since the Lannisters came into it. There was a time where she fought it tooth and nail, but long since she had learned that it was only fighting the inevitable. In a world that didn’t want you, it was best to pretend you didn’t exist.

Cersei, thankfully, walks away and leaves Cendaia to her own devices. She digs her nails into her palms, nearly to the point of breaking skin as a long exhale leaves her lips. She just had to remember what she did this all for.

* * *

Dusk had settled over the Dothraki camp, they were still a few days away from Vaes Dothrak. It was proving to be a long journey and it felt even longer with Viserys around every turn. Dahleena constantly witnessed the way he treated the Khaleesi, talking down to her, mocking the others when he didn’t think they were watching. She could earnestly say that the man was turning out to be worse than she thought. He was not a true threat to any of them as of now she believed but he was a nuisance.

Dahleena let the rag smooth across the curve of her blade as she mulled over her thoughts. The crusted brown remains of the Dothraki warrior from the wedding still stuck to it. The water drenched rag was slowly but surely assisting in returning the blade to its dull silver color. Her eyes occasionally moved up to look at the disappearing sun that had casted the sky into a pale orange. Aside from Viserys’s treatment of Daenerys, she noticed the girl having increasing difficulty in coping with Drogo’s needs. It was obvious she didn’t want to be bedded but she was powerless to stop the great Khal. Perhaps Dahleena could attempt to convince him to go easier on the woman but had an instinctual feeling he wouldn’t take heed, perhaps even be offended by the request. Her shoulders rise and then fall with a soft, exasperated sigh, it seemed like her mind was always conflicted about something these days.

The crunch of the grass bending beneath feet had crept up on her, turning her head just in time to see the owner of the footsteps. Pleasant surprise overcame her as Doreah stood there, staring down at where Dahleena sat on the ground. The woman’s hands were folded neatly in front of her, clutching at her canteen. “I’m sorry, I should’ve announced myself” she apologizes sweetly after seeing how she initially startled the Bloodrider.

“It’s no trouble”, Dahleena smiles, “I was too deep in my own head again.”

Doreah, still sheepish around the woman despite Dahleena already proving she was to be trusted, gestures to the spot beside her. “May I join you?”

It’s hard to fathom that a bedslave of Pentos wanted anything to do with her. But, if she could find company in someone who wasn’t afraid of her or didn’t belittle her, she wouldn’t complain. “Of course” her answer is almost too eager and it causes Doreah to bemusedly grin. She walks to Dahleena, seating herself at her side in the grass. 

“I’ve never walked this far in my life, I don’t know how you all do it.” Her fingers knead at the muscles in her calf, trying to rub away the soreness currently taking root there.

Dahleena chortles and tosses the rag into the nearby grass, setting her arakh beside her. “I’ve been walking with this Khalasar since I was just a child. I prefer riding.”

Sparing a glance up at her from the corner of her eyes as she still attempted to work out the soreness in her muscles, she can’t resist asking a question. “Women aren’t allowed horses?”

She frowns at this, Dahleena rose a hand to lightly scratch her jaw as she thought of how to word her response. She was worried of the impression she might make of her people to Doreah. “The common women and slaves aren’t allowed horses, no, the Khaleesi of course rides beside the Khal. We save carts for those who can no longer walk though. Though, most would rather walk till their feet bled then shame themselves by riding in one.”

Doreah’s brow furrows after obtaining the answer to her question. For such strong-willed people, they were so highly superstitious about the oddest of things. Granted, she’d never say that outloud to any of them for fear of losing her tongue. “You’re allowed a horse because you’re--” she struggles, trying to remember the word.

“Khal Drogo’s  _ Ko _ ”, she says for her, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear, “blood of his blood.”

“Yes, that”, Doreah’s cheeks burn pink at her inability to remember the proper terms, “do all the-- Kos wear their hair like that? Braided?” Her eyes stray to the long braid flowing down Dahleena’s back, nearly sweeping against the grassy floor. Now that she was closer, she could see the tiny bells woven in-between each knot, six of them that she could count.

“All Dothrak riders wear this”, Dahleena explains enthusiastically, “it is so we may show our pride, the longer it becomes, the more victories we've claimed.” She could still remember the day she had her first bell placed in her hair. Despite already having had her title as Bloodrider for a year, that had been the moment that it truly sunk in, that she was a true rider. 

Doreah found herself wearing an enamored smile at Dahleena’s pride in this aspect of the Dothraki way. She admitted that it seemed like a grand idea, to be feared by men for your prowess on the battlefield. Dahleena was, of course, different in other ways from the rest of the men and women within the Khalasar as well. She was kinder for starters, she’d witnessed the others deal out unnecessary cruelty to the slaves, treating them as less than human. Dahleena, however, spoke to them as an equal, it seemed she treated everyone this way no matter who they were. Doreah could see how it may cause her grief one day or get her into trouble, but it was still an act of kindness she found admirable. She couldn’t have believed she’d ever meet a horse lord that would genuinely call gentle but if anyone fit the word, Dahleena did.

“Dahleena!” Doreah’s head turned back as the woman’s name was called out. Dahleena peered over her shoulder to see Rakharo beckoning her over with a wave of his arm. The other bloodriders and a few members of the Khalasar now looked at her expectantly as well. 

Dahleena pushed herself off the ground “apologies, if I don’t come to him, he’ll come to me.” She rolls her eyes despite the affectionate smirk on her face as she calls something back to Rakharo. Before departing, she does add on, “if you have more questions about us, we can speak more tomorrow?” She seemed hopeful despite her best attempts at hiding the eagerness to spend more time with the woman. 

Doreah ponders the offer before nodding, “I think I’d like that.”

The bloodrider feels her heart nearly leap out of her throat at the answer. She bids a farewell to the woman before striding over to the others. Rakharo slides himself over on the stone he sat on, making room for Dahleena to sit beside him.

“ _ Since when do you concern yourselves with whores? _ ” Rakharo asked her, leaning around Dahleena to regard Doreah who was walking back to her tent. 

Dahleena’s brow furrowed at his words as she shrugged, “ _ she came to me. _ ” 

  
  


Qotho was the first to speak up, saying from the other side of the fire. “ _ It’s the best she can do, Rakharo, a Lys whore is the only woman that would look at her. _ ” The men gave little snorts and chuckles while Dahleena arched her brow at him. 

“ _ I’ll take Lys whores over the cows you bed _ ” This earns another round of chuckles from everyone. Even Qotho snorting in amusement at her before they collectively return to their previous conversation.

* * *

  
  


The soft snorting of the horses and crackling of the fire was an ambiance Araye was very familiar with. The distant hoot of an owl in a nearby tree echoed through the quickly darkening wood. The blade in her hands smoothly cut through the flesh of the rabbit’s feet, crimson dripping into the frost hardened grass beneath her. Shuffling footsteps caused her gray eyes to turn upward, beholding the prisoners they’d picked up after leaving Winterfell (previously prisoners anyway).

Araye only watched for a moment longer as Benjen forced them to sit at the other fire they’d prepared. No one was watching them very closely but they were unarmed and their hands were bound, they wouldn’t make it far if they ran. Her interest is lost when it seemed they didn’t intend to cause trouble. She continued in her work of skinning, as the feet separated from the legs of the hare.

Tyrion had been leaning against a tree close to the fire as well but Araye’s movements drew his eyes away from the page of his back. Glancing towards her previous spot at the men that would be new Watchmen for the wall.

“Ah, rapers”, he said after hearing the soft mutterings that the two exchanged. Turning his gaze back down to the page of his book. “They’re given a choice, aren’t they?” 

Araye glances over at Tyrion before she pressed the edge of her blade against the neck of the rabbit. “Castration or the wall,” she said for him, pressing down with the base of her palm on the dagger to get it through the spine. It gave way with an audible pop, blood spurting up from the stump. Most of it ended up on the ground but what did splash into the fire sizzled and popped. “If they’d been smart, they would have chosen castration” Araye muttered under her breath. 

Jon’s eyes had actually bothered to pay attention to the weapon in her hands now. The glint that the black blade gave off from the fire specifically drawing his attention. “Is that dragon glass?” Jon asked her in awe, she stops her activity momentarily to look at the blood dappled, jagged dagger. She was unable to stop her proud smile, “Night’s Edge” Araye clarified the name of her weapon for him. 

“Can I?” He asked her next, hopeful enthusiasm breaking through his usually brooding tone. 

Araye’s ego swelled at finally being able to break Jon’s stoic disposition but she was still hesitant to hand over her most valued possession (aside from her bow). 

“You chip it and your head comes off next” she flipped it in her hand, catching the tip of the blade and offering the oak handle to Jon. 

He heeded her warning and carefully took the dagger, holding it flat out in his hands and examining the uneven curves and ridges on the blade. Tracing his eyes down to the deer hide-wrapped handle before finally resting upon the pommel, noticing a crow had been carved into the wood. 

“Where’d you get it?” He inquired before handing the weapon back to Araye, allowing her to continue preparing the rabbit for roasting. 

  
  


“I found it the first time I went North of the Wall. Wildling had been carrying it with him, seven knows how he found it.” Jon pondered over the knife’s origin before looking at the other man present. Tyrion had been silent during the discussion, reading his book with unbroken concentration, brow furrowed and eyes never straying from the page.

“You read a lot” Jon observed, Tyrion’s dual-colored eyes moving up from the page he was reading. Those eyes had chilled Jon immensely the first time he saw them, one green and one black. 

“Look at me and tell me what you see” he finally responded to Jon’s statement.

The younger’s brow furrowed, hesitant to answer and so he asked, “is this a trick?” 

Tyrion was unable to stop an amused smile from spreading across his lips briefly. “What you see is a dwarf”, he answered for him, “had I been born a peasant then it’s likely I would’ve been left out in the woods somewhere to die. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Things are expected of me, my father was the hand of the King for twenty years.”

“Until your brother killed that King” Araye interrupted, pausing in stripping the skin from the Rabbit’s flesh after she made the petty jab at Tyrion. 

The man’s brow rose at her comment, but, he dismissed it, couldn’t let her have the satisfaction after all. “Yes. Until my brother killed him. Life is full of these little ironies you see, my sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my house, wouldn’t you agree?” He tilted his head slightly towards the only female present. 

Araye stopped again, directing a contempt stare at the Lannister for returning her jab. Tyrion adjusted his position, sitting up further against the tree. “Well, my brother has his sword and I have my mind, and like a sword needs a wet stone, a mind needs books alone.” 

As the hide dropped from the rabbit; she next got into the work of gutting the animal, pressing the edge of the blade against the stomach and slicing upwards. Tyrion’s eyes lingered on Araye as she did so, finally managing to ask her, “and you? What’s your story? The only woman of the Night’s Watch and in training to be the first ranger at that.” 

Her patience dwindled by the moment, “why would I tell you?”

Tyrion gave a little ‘tsk’ and pressed her, “come now, White, you must have some grandiose tale? Maybe you cut down a thousand wildings on your own and they welcomed you into their fold or perhaps your family was cut down and you swore revenge by joining with the Watch.”

Araye’s eyes fixed back on the rabbit as she pulled its innards out. After the guts had piled on the ground, she dared to look up at the dwarf. “My ‘grandiose tale’ is short, pathetic, and bloody, I’m not reciting it so you can run off and talk about the sad girl slaving her life away for the Watch.”

It seemed this was enough to stop Tyrion from asking any more questions. He had gone back to his book while Jon watched her curiously from the corner of his eye. Perhaps there was a reason that Araye had become the angry woman she was today. He hadn’t even been able to get out of Benjen why a woman had been allowed to join the Watch, only saying it ‘wasn’t his place to tell.’ Jon would get it out of her one way or another.

* * *

  
  


The next stop that the King’s Carriage had taken was at an inn, they would reach King’s Landing by mid-day tomorrow. Cendaia had been having an enjoyable conversation with one of the hands of the inn, however, she departed to go on a stroll to the nearby river. As she rounded the corner of the inn, she was greeted with a booming bark. The princess exclaims loudly in surprise, drawing the attention of nearby guards though none bothered to investigate. The dire wolf, responsible for Cendaia’s fright, seemed very pleased with itself. The wolf’s tail wagged up at her, tongue lolling from its mouth.

“Lady!” A voice called out before the dog’s leash was grabbed again. Cendaia placing a hand over her heart in an attempt to calm the way it was racing now. She took a moment to observe the owner, about to berate them for not controlling their animal until she realized who it was.

Fiery red hair framed a beautiful, fair-skinned face, blue eyes wide as they stared at the princess. Sansa was quick to stammer out an apology, “I’m sorry, my lady, she got away from me.” 

Cendaia’s heartbeat began to slow again and her icy eyes flashed down to the animal. The wolf still seemed very enthusiastic to greet her, whimpering excitedly as it strained to smell the fabric of her dress. “Lady you called her?” she inquired Sansa, lowering her hand now. 

Sansa nodded her head to Cendaia, still nervous over the potential trouble the princess could get her into. 

“A fine name for a young wolf, she’ll grow into an even more beautiful creature, I’m sure.” Cendaia finally says, smiling down at the animal first and then looking to the eldest Stark daughter again.

Sansa smiled at the compliment, “thank you, my lady.”

Cendaia shook her head with a sigh “please, stop calling me your lady. We’re going to be sisters soon enough and I’ll have to start referring to you as your grace. No need for formalities.”

Sansa dipped her head “yes, I’m sorry my-- I mean...I’m sorry” a sheepish smile returned to her face. 

Cendaia glew with warmth, almost too adoring of the younger girl. Sansa reminded her of herself when she was just a girl, and she had that youthful innocence that was always Cendaia’s weakness.

“It’s alright”, she forgave quickly, “have you enjoyed your time with us thus far?" She changed the topic, eager to make the girl feel comfortable again.

Sansa nodded excitedly “Joffrey is the kindest prince. A true gentleman and the rest of your family is wonderful, the Queen is so kind.”

Cendaia fought the urge to grind her teeth into dust as Sansa her love for Cersei and Joffrey. Her family? If Cersei had heard that, she would’ve flown into a rage at the pure idea of Cendaia being compared to them. It seemed Joffrey had thoroughly fooled Sansa as well. Maybe the engagement would be good for the boy, it could teach him to be kinder. Optimism had never gotten her very far in life before, she reminded herself. “Of course, yes, my brother is a very--", she paused in an attempt to find a non-insulting word for the prince, "nurturing soul, he’ll make a good king one day and you, my dear, will be a beautiful queen.” 

The pure look of joy that shined radiant as ever on Sansa’s face made the lie worth it for Cendaia.

“Ah, there you are, my Lady” speak of the devil and he shall appear. Joffrey approached the girls with a hand on the golden lion pommel of his sword. He stopped next to Sansa, green eyes narrowing at Cendaia as he asked her, “has my sister been bothering you?” Cendaia’s eyes hardened as the words left his lips, smile remaining on her face as to not give away her annoyance.

“Just an afternoon talk, my prince, seven blessings upon both of you. I’ll leave you to it” she dipped her head before stepping around the two. Her face quickly fell into a grimace once she was sure they could no longer see her as she headed down the path, “little prick…” she breathed out in a half growl.


End file.
